“What about her?”
Paxton tilts his chin in my direction.
“Don’t worry about her. She doesn’t want you. She only wants some blood splashed over her wet dreams.”
My jaw locks with fury, his insinuation igniting a fit of rage and justified resentment.
“You are such a dick,” I say, sinking my fist into his torso, feeling the pain down to my toes.
Paxton glances at me one more time before walking away without looking back.
He barely reaches the terrace when I start to scream.
No acting out makes him turn to us, and just as fast, Callum clamps a hand over my mouth, and I suffocate against his touch.
“You can’t behave, can you?” he rasps, his voice heavy like a thousand hammers as he moves with me toward the house.
As much as I fight him, still, using my own weight to slow him down, my efforts are useless, having no effect on him.
“You want to get us all killed,” he goes on, unperturbed, in the same husky voice that raises an army of goosebumps on my arms. “Little fucking brat,” he says, dragging me up the stairs like I’m a folded chair.
His hand slips a little, and I quickly find my voice.
“You’re a fucking tyrant. Let go of me. You’re not my fucking father to tell me what to do,” I pull hard to break away from him, fighting him in vain.
He pushes the door open and makes a sharp right, going farther into the bowels of the house, where I’ve heard from Nona that a few bedrooms are reserved for our special guests.
“You’re lucky I’m not your father,” he says as he pushes a door open, and a dark room greets us with an earthy smell drifting in through the open windows.
He slams and locks the door before walking me, or rather, perp walking me to the bathroom.
Only the cuffs are missing.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, a flicker of angst skittering through me.
I’ve longed for a moment like this since I laid my eyes on this man three years ago, and now that my wish was granted, I reckon it’s a total letdown.
This is not what I’d imagined.
The man in front of me is dark, his eyes dipped in anger or hatred. It’s all the same to me.
He releases me, slides off his impeccable suit jacket, and tears off his tie from his neck before pedantically placing them on a huge vanity.
He knows his way around the room, which makes me think he’s been in this part of the house before, perhaps even slept in this very bedroom, although he's certainly opted against it now.
It’s all because of me.
He didn’t want to use this accommodation, so he didn’t have to spend time with me.
As he pivots back to me, he finds me contemplating that thought when my eyes lift to his face, and I get my fill of him.
“You’re jealous,” I say coldly, and he flicks his eyebrows up in rebuttal.
Man, he’s beautiful. Handsome. Irresistible. He’s a fucking pain in the ass, but you can’t take away his looks from him.
His eyes hold the power of a thousand suns, every expression becoming an embroidery in the recesses of my memory.
I like him angry, stubborn, filled with hate, ready to kill someone.
